Going the Distance (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Cara Addison

  “That wouldn’t bother you?”

  “Austin. It’s an awesome story. I’ve lived it, and I’m pretty sure that I’d read it over and over again.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m certain.”

  That settled it. The next morning, Austin set to writing the fun, frolicking story of how they met in San Diego, just three months earlier.

  * * * *

  It was a cold, dark, and dreary evening at the end of October when Brett stepped out of the elevator and threw his briefcase onto the sofa. He kicked off his shoes and angrily threw his overcoat across a chair.

  “Are you pissed at the weather, work, or just life in general?” she asked while observing his foul mood.

  “I’m not pissed,” he fired back as he tugged off his suit jacket.

  “No,” she replied, “clearly your day’s been all puppies and rainbows.”

  He stared at her, his eyes fiery, his expression hard. “Get your ass into the bedroom, and get naked,” he demanded.

  “Are you mad at…me?” she queried, slowly stepping out from behind the kitchen island.

  “Now,” he demanded as he pointed down the hall.

  It was obvious there was something bigger at play. “Just to be clear, I’m a big fan of angry sex,” she began, “and I’m only going down this hall because I’m a little turned on by your aggression.” She made her way down the hall and began peeling off her clothes as she disappeared. She was standing, leaning against the edge of the raised bed when he entered the room. He’d stripped naked, his hard cock standing big and strong in front of him.

  “Are you wet?” he asked before taking a step toward her.

  She knew she was, but reached between her legs and felt her pussy as he watched. “A little,” she understated, pulling her slippery fingers away from her swollen and wet hole.

  “Turn around,” he demanded as he walked toward her.

  She slowly turned. His hands were on her hips as he kicked her feet apart. He rammed his cock between her legs. “Fuck,” he cursed. “I’ve had the day from hell and now I come home to find your cunt soaking wet.”

  It was the first time she had heard him use that word. She was about to explain, when he slammed his cock inside her. She arched her back and sucked in a lungful of air. “Christ,” she cried out, as again, he shoved his cock deep inside her. “What kind of fucking day did you have?”

  “Shut the hell up, and let me fuck you.” He growled, thrusting hard and fast against her. Within a moment, she was on her tiptoes, bracing against each thrust, push, and lunge that he could unleash. Sensing that he wasn’t focused on her, she quickly licked her fingers and dropped her hand between her legs, swirling her fingers against her clit in a swift and smooth motion. It was but a moment later when she felt the tension in her pelvis reach a climax. She quietly pressed her fingers against her clit, releasing a wave of exquisite sensation through her body. She heard him curse, and felt his body shudder as he came inside her. She slumped against the mattress, completely spent. He pulled his cock from her and smacked her ass before walking toward the en suite bathroom. She lay, sprawled against the mattress for a moment before hearing the shower door close behind him.

  She was leaning against the bathroom vanity when he stepped out of the shower. “Feel better?”

  “A little,” he responded before looking across at her. His expression was cloudy and his eyes were sullen.

  “Did you lose a big deal at work today?” she asked, trying to determine the source of his anger.

  “No.”

  He was staring at the floor. “What did happen?” she asked, walking toward him.

  He paused and inhaled deeply before slowly looking up at her. “My father stopped by my office today.”

  “He…he did?” she asked incredulously.

  Brett nodded.

  “What happened?”

  “Fortunately, Dale saw him coming, and stepped into my office before I could kill him.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “He said that he’s sorry,” Brett responded, spitting out the words, “and that he wants us to put this mistake behind us,” he added sarcastically.

  “What did you say?” she asked, completely shocked at the turn of events.

  “I didn’t say a thing. Not one word.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It was everything that I could do to refrain from knocking him unconscious.”

  “Put this behind you?” she repeated, processing the conversation out loud. “What, does he think that we’ll all get together for brunch, and everything will be right as rain? Fuck,” she exclaimed. “I know I’ve never met the man, but, is he delusional?”

  “So, you think he’s offside too?”

  “Brett,” she began, running her hand up his arm. “He slept with your girlfriend for a year,” she exclaimed. “He cheated on your mother and deserted both of you in favor of…of her.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “I hate him, Austin. I hate him so much.”

  It pained her to hear the words. She knew that he was acutely aware that physically, Brett was a carbon copy of his father. She hoped that he understood that the resemblance to his father was merely physical.

  “You’re not him, Brett,” she whispered. His shoulders relaxed a little as her remark sunk in.

  He leaned back and looked at her. “I’m so sorry, kitten. I took my anger out on you, and I shouldn’t have.”

  “It’s a good thing that I’m a fan of angry sex,” she chided, “but in the future, it would be helpful to know what you’re angry about.”

  “I love you.” He smiled. “And I barely deserve you.”

  “You deserve me, and so much more,” she whispered, softly kissing him. She leaned him back against the wall, tenderly kissing his shoulder, then his neck, rising to her tiptoes to gradually kiss her way across his cheek toward his lips. Her nipples brushed against his soft chest hair, sparking a raw ember of pure delight. He gently held her head in his hands and kissed her passionately. His hand deftly slipped down her neck to her breast. He brushed his finger against her nipple, which instantly hardened in response to his touch. His hand continued to wander down, slipping gently between her legs. She winced as he delicately pressed his fingers into her slit.

  He stopped kissing her, sensing her discomfort. “Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m a little tender,” she whispered.

  She continued kissing him. He gently swirled his finger, causing her to wince again.

  “Oh my god, kitten,” he muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

  She sighed. “Let me take a warm bath. I’ll be fine.” She turned to start the bathwater.

  “Wait.” He pulled her back in and kissed her. “Can I kiss it better?” he asked naughtily.

  “Hmmm. I’d like that. After a tub.” She turned on the taps and added a sprinkle of bath salts.

  “Is dinner in the kitchen?” he asked as she sunk into the warm water.

  She sat forward and stared at him. “I didn’t make dinner tonight.” She realized that the day’s drama had completely distracted him. “You told me this morning before you left that we have dinner reservations for eight o’clock.”

  The color drained from his face. “Oh fuck.” He fell to his knees beside the tub. “It’s your birthday. I…I completely forgot.”

  “You didn’t forget,” she whispered. “You made love to me this morning. You wished me a happy birthday. You made reservations. Right?”

  He nodded.

  “Then, you didn’t forget. You’ve been understandably distracted.” She sighed.

  He collapsed on the floor. She peeked over the edge of the tub. He was lying prostrate on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. “I am the worst boyfriend. Ever.”

  She laughed lightly. “You are far from that, Brett.” She settled back into the soothing water.

  “Fuck. My only hope is that I can redeem myself with your gift.”

  “There’s a gift?” she asked cur
iously.

  “Of course there is.”

  “Ya. Sounds like you completely forgot my birthday,” she added sarcastically.

  He sat up. “Do you want to open it?”

  She did, but wanted to salvage the evening. “I’ll open it at dinner.”

  “You still want to go out?”

  “I do. Let’s put this crap behind us and go out and celebrate.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I am.” He looked at the clock. “Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. “Give me a few more minutes. Then I’ll get dressed and be ready to go.”

  He stood up and leaned over to kiss her. “Happy birthday, kitten.”

  “I love you,” she whispered as he left the room.

  A few minutes later, she stepped from the tub, feeling relaxed and ready for a quiet night of celebration. She toweled off and opened her closet door to select a dress for their intimate dinner. She stepped back, surprised to see a black Gucci dress hanging on the door, adorned with a big red bow on the hanger. “What is this?” she purred as she ran her hand over the fabric.

  Brett stepped back into the room. “It’s the first part of your gift.”

  “There are parts?”

  “Believe it or not, I put a lot of thought into this.” He took her into his arms. “I looked through your closet. You have a lot of dresses, but you don’t have a little black dress.”

  “I do now.” She sighed, leaning into his embrace. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

  “Get dressed. I can’t wait to see it on you.” Already dressed in a fresh suit, he watched as she selected a bra and panties, before slipping into the viscose jersey-and-net dress. He stepped forward and watched her reflection in the mirror as he slid the zipper up her back. Her smile was contagious. “It fits you perfectly,” he whispered, running his hand up her torso to where the fabric hugged her breasts. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Pick out some shoes. We should get going.”

  She opened another closet door. A brand new pair of Christian Louboutin’s Resillana lace-net peep-toe shoes was staring back at her. “Oh, Brett. I love them. These have been on my wish list for months.”

  “I know. Carol told me.”

  Carol was his personal shopper, who had inadvertently become Austin’s personal shopper since she’d moved to New York. “I’ll have to remember to thank her.”

  “Okay,” he urged, looking at his watch. “We really need to go.” She slipped on the shoes and reached for a clutch purse. The rain had stopped, but it was still cool and damp. Brett helped her with her coat before they stepped outside to hail a cab that whisked them through the busy streets.

  “Where are we going?” she inquired as the cab turned onto 6th Avenue.

  “Babbo.”

  They had eaten at Babbo in the past. It was one of Austin’s favorite restaurants. “Well done.” She leaned over to kiss him. “I’m very, very impressed.”

  “It’s early, kitten.” She suspected there were still a few surprises to come. They were only a few minutes late when they stepped into the cozy restaurant on Waverly Place. The restaurant manager appeared moments after they arrived, greeting Brett with a warm handshake.

  “This must be the birthday girl,” he greeted them, placing a hand on Austin’s shoulder. “Welcome to Babbo, Austin. I’m Daniel.”

  He looked at Brett. “Your dinner will be ready shortly. This would be a good time for a tour, if that works for you.”

  Brett nodded. “Perfect.”

  “Tour?” Austin inquired curiously.

  “Follow me,” Daniel invited. It was just a moment before they stepped into the quiet basement room. Daniel flicked on the lights, illuminating a large room with exposed brick walls, framed by row upon row of wooden shelves, stocked to the brim with wine.

  “You remembered,” she sighed, kissing Brett, remembering the offhand comment she had made on a previous visit to the restaurant, suggesting how much she would love to tour the Babbo wine cellar.

  “I did. Happy Birthday.”

  She closed her eyes and inhaled the rich aroma. “Questo è bello,” she whispered.

  “Parli italiano?” Daniel inquired.

  Austin smiled shyly. “Just a little.”

  Daniel gave them a detailed tour of the cellar, identifying wines from the various regions of Italy, commentating on the vineyard’s climate and soil conditions, describing how the unique conditions of each region influence the final creation. They sampled a number of wines before a waiter appeared, indicating that the specially requested meal was ready to be served. Austin and Brett were ushered into a small private dining room beside the cellar. An intimate table had been set for them. It overlooked a glass window into a room where prosciutto, salamis, and other meats were curing.

  Each and every course of the meal was exquisite. Every bite was a delight to her palette. “Oh, Brett,” she murmured as she finished her wild striped bass. “This is beyond incredible. You’ve more than redeemed yourself.”

  He glanced at the waiter, who left the room briefly, returning with a rectangular gift-wrapped package. He handed the gift to Brett before exiting the room.

  “This is for you,” he whispered, sliding the final gift across the table. “Happy birthday.” She glanced down at the box as it sat in front of her. “Open it,” he urged.

  She picked up the professionally wrapped package and carefully pried off the paper. She gasped as the paper fell away, revealing a blue marbled box with a Mikimoto logo on the top. “You didn’t,” she exclaimed as she lifted the lid revealing a velvety blue pouch. She looked up at him, a tear welling up in her eye.

  He sighed, “I love you, Austin.”

  She opened the pouch snaps, unfolding the edges to reveal a delicate multi-color pearls-in-motion necklace. She ran her fingers over each of the ten cultured pearls. A sob escaped her lips.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her.

  She shook her head, waving her hand at her eyes, fanning away the moisture in her eyes. “Happy tears.” She laughed. “Very happy tears,” she added, leaning in to deliver a series of long, sultry kisses. “I love it. It’s beyond beautiful. Let’s go home,” she whispered, smiling through her tears of joy.

  “Can I make love to you when we get home?” he asked hesitantly.

  She kissed him again. “It will be the perfect way to end a perfect evening.”

  He took her home, and tenderly made love to her until they fell peacefully to sleep in each other’s arms.

  Chapter 13

  Just past six o’clock, Austin heard the elevator come to life, signaling that Brett was home. She gave a final stir to the pot of linguini noodles, preparing a sieve to drain the pasta. The shrimp and scallop with white wine sauce was simmering gently.

  The elevator door opened, and Brett stepped into the spacious apartment.

  “Hey there,” she greeted him. “You’re right on time. How was your day?”

  He rarely spoke about the details of his job, keenly aware that even though she was on a sabbatical, a technology company still gainfully employed her. He was always careful not to disclose sensitive or confidential information. “It was good. We’re making progress on a few files,” he added. “Dinner smells delicious. What are you spoiling me with tonight?”

  “Shrimp and scallop linguini,” she responded, draining the noodles. “Can you open that?” she asked, nodding toward a bottle of white wine she had selected from the wine fridge.

  “Absolutely. How was your day?” he asked, pulling the cork from the bottle.

  “Good.” She smiled. “Very productive. I finished another two chapters. I was on a roll today,” she added, tossing the seafood together with noodles. “Hey, when is it my turn to pay the rent?”

  He scoffed at the idea. “Why would I ask you to pay the rent?”

  “Because I live here now. I should pay my share.”

  “I asked you to move in as
my girlfriend, not my roommate.”

  “How does Gregory feel about that?”

  “I didn’t ask his last girlfriend to pay the rent, and I don’t think he would expect it from you. It would be”—he looked up into the air, searching for the right word—“where is an author when I need one? What is the word I’m looking for? Unchivalrous.”

  “I’m not entirely sure that is the opposite of chivalrous, but I’ll let it pass for now.”

  He was flipping through the mail on the island. “What’s this?” he asked, pulling a set of documents from a large manila envelope.

  “Oh,” she explained. “My lawyer couriered that to me. It arrived this morning.”

  “What is it?” he asked curiously, scanning the documents.

  “It’s an offer-to-purchase.”

  He stared at her. “What did you buy?”

  She laughed. “I didn’t buy anything, I sold something. It’s a real estate deal.”

  He looked back at the documents. “You sold your condo? For $400,000?” he asked, incredulously.

  “No,” she scoffed, placing the bowl of pasta on the table. “It’s worth three-and-a-half times that,” she added, walking back to the kitchen to retrieve the salad. “I sold my house in London.”

  “You…you have a house in London?”

  “I do. Well…I did.”

  “When did you buy it?”

  “When I was in university.”

  “And now you’ve sold it?” he asked, still looking over the documents.

  She put the salad on the table and looked at him. “Would you like to hear the story, or would you like to ask another twenty questions?”

  He looked up at her. “Please explain.”

  “I bought the house when I was a frosh.” She paused, and then translated to American. “A freshman. I didn’t want to live in residence when I went to university. I was looking for an apartment a few weeks before school started, and I walked by this house a few blocks from campus. There was a realtor hanging up a For Sale sign. I stopped and asked a few questions. I toured the house and later that day, I submitted an offer.” She paused to take a sip of wine. “I think I paid $120,000 for it. At that time, first-time homebuyers only needed to put down five percent as a down payment. I put together my savings and got a mortgage.” She continued her story. “The next day, I went to the athletic department and put up a notice that I had four bedrooms to rent. There were lots of varsity athletes looking for last-minute accommodation, and within a few days I had roommates. It was a four-bedroom house with a finished basement. I made a fifth bedroom for myself, and we settled in. It’s been a great little investment.”